Never Alone
by anakinlove
Summary: Just how far will Tim go when the pain gets to great to bear? Can Bruce really hope to save him from himself?


**To anyone who's ever been alone.**

Every teenager contemplates suicide at one or more times in his or her life. After all, there's always that "I ought to punish my parents by killing myself" or "my friends would feel sorry they did this to me if I was dead." I mean, we all think like that sometimes.

Even Dick, the most positive person I know, confided in me once that he had entertained such thoughts. Right after his parents had died was one time. When he got really mad with Bruce, occasionally it would cross his mind, that it was a feasible way to punish him.

But, as soon as the thought would cross his mind, he would feel dirty, like he had just rolled in something awful. Because Dick understood. Dick understood and knew without any reasonable amount of doubt in his mind how much he meant to Bruce and because of that, the thought of hurting him made the then boy wonder feel physically ill.

He told me that usually after entertaining such ideas, he would rush out and hug Bruce. That was often how they made up, though Dick never told Bruce the thought of suicide ever even crossed his mind. He knew it would upset him. That was how much they loved each other. All through my childhood, I wished I felt love like that.

Most of us entertain these thoughts of suicide without ever allowing them to become anything more than thoughts. We never seriously consider it, and I mean seriously consider it. It's always there in the back of our minds as an available option if times get too tough, but most of our lives never get to be that bad.

I was no exception. All through my teenage years, I wondered how things could ever get that bad, you could ever be that desolate. After all, my life was going fairly well for the most part. Sure, I had lost my mom, but my dad was still around and even though my relationship with him was somewhat lacking, I had Bruce and he loved me and I had Dick and he loved me too.

I always scoffed at those people or called them weak when I came in contact with suicide. I didn't know the victims personally so I really had no right to judge, but secretly, I considered them strong. It must take an awful lot of courage to kill yourself, and in a way, that's true. To take that final step must take a great deal of resolve.

But, I also think it comes from someone who is weak, who is unable to face the world, who just isn't strong enough. I always considered it a mix of both. It wasn't until I turned seventeen that I truly understood what it meant to become that empty, to become that alone and that desolate.

I was not blessed with Dick's indomitable spirit or security in the love that he had. As a recently adopted son of Bruce's, not yet truly understanding what that even meant, I hardly felt any sort of security such as that. It was the darkest point in my life.

I mourned bitterly for my Father, my best friend Conner was gone, Stephanie was gone. Everyone was gone, everyone was dead. I just knew, just felt it somewhere deep in my core, that Bruce was going to die soon too, Dick as well. Death dogged my footsteps; I brought it to those I came in contact with. I would never escape.

Bruce was distant at best, deep in a case and hardly noticing the emotional turmoil I now faced. Worse still, he had been more involved than ever with a new girl, one I sensed he might actually like, and that only added to my loneliness. Dick was away and I couldn't reach out to him, something simply held me back, some part of me that felt he wouldn't understand and feared he wouldn't even care. After all, nobody else cared, why should he.

Alfred seemed to understand that something was wrong, but he couldn't really get through to me and I wasn't around the house long enough for him to be able to put a decent effort anyway.

Days slipped by, my grades slipped down and I watched my future spiral into a dark abyss. I ostracized my friends, Bruce never noticed and I was sure didn't even care, I was totally alone. The psychological torment I endured from that awful loneliness was so incredible, I couldn't handle it anymore, so I started to cut myself.

They were small cuts at first, but gradually, they bit deeper and longer. I slashed frantically at my flesh in fits of emotional torment, for the physical agony somehow forced out the agony in my mind, as if every cut on my arm canceled out one in my brain.

By the time I was finished with a bout of frantic self-mutilation, I was totally drained of anything. The pain from my arms endured, but it was pain I could handle. It was hardly equal to what I carried my heart from day to day.

I spent long evenings on the rooftops of Gotham, staring off into the darkness as if something might come out and save me. I was practically catatonic, nothing even touched me. I was so deep, so dull, so numb, I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't be alone anymore, it was too much for me to carry, to much for me to bear. The cutting stopped working and I could no longer force away the agony in my mind. I made the decision no one should ever make, the decision to end my own existence.

It really should have been a harder choice, but in the state I was in, it really wasn't. It wasn't even really a choice at all. It slid smoothly in and took the place of my instinct for self-preservation without my even noticing its journey. I only realized it was there when it was too late. It rooted itself deep within me and with that, it was there.

At first, it came so quickly, I was terrified. I had totally rationalized committing suicide, it was totally alright now. Sitting in my room with the realization that suicide was now my only avenue, I cried. I was terrified of death all of the sudden, desperate for life, yet here was death, imminent. It was not a conscious choice I made, it was something that simply was there where it had not been before.

I had never imagined it would feel like this, I had never thought it would be this way. I screamed at the top of my lungs, trying desperately to convince myself not to follow through with this, but I couldn't. I screamed and I yelled and I wept and I roared in agony, ripping at my carpet and attacking my walls, trying to get the awful reality of my own end out of my brain, but I couldn't.

So, when I could no longer even stand for lack of energy, I dropped to the ground, curled up and wept. I wept and I wept for my dead parents, my dead friends and myself, my soon to be dead self. Once there were no tears left and I was completely empty, I drew myself up and began to plan. There was a total acceptance of my fate, no more crying, no more self-pity. I was driven now to the action, which must surly follow from the awful realization I had come to. I was a student of Batman's after all; every aspect of my life must be meticulous.

The tears had scarcely dried on my cheeks when I came to the firm decision that I could in no way allow Bruce to make this his fault. I would not allow any thug to kill me and I would use none of the weapons in the cave. I would get my own weapon, making sure that Bruce understood he had, in no way, coerced me into this decision.

I decided not to use pills, there was a chance I might not die quickly enough to stave off any efforts on the part of anyone to revive me. No, it must be quick and as quick as possible, even if it had to be painful. I could deal with physical pain, it was the emotional torment I could no longer handle.

I decided to steal a knife from my friend's kitchen. I went over to his house for a school project and slipped one of his shiny meat cutting knives in with my things when I left. He wouldn't notice its absence and anyway, I would leave a letter saying it should be returned to him or a new one should be purchased.

I didn't want to use my own money to buy a knife because it was money Bruce had given me and somehow, he would feel as if he had provided me with an avenue towards self-destruction. I had to cut off as many of those avenues as I could. Though I knew I wouldn't be able to rid him of guilt completely, at least I did what I could. My mind was eased by the fact that he would have to shoulder one less burden, me.

I also had to make a decision about where it would happen. I couldn't kill myself in my room, that would force a murder investigation on Bruce. I couldn't do it in the cave either, for similar reasons. I needed to do it somewhere where I was sure Bruce would find me first, so he wouldn't have to get a phone call and no one would search for me. I didn't want him fostering false hopes of finding me alive when, in reality, he never would.

I would have to die as Tim Drake too, or they would unmask me and know I was Robin. I finally decided the best place to do it would be in the neighborhood I had lived in with my father. It was a place I sometimes went to when I wanted to think and Bruce always knew to look for me there when he needed to find me. It was also a shifty enough area that no one would report a body. I would hopefully be undisturbed when he came.

I was determined that Bruce should be the one to find me. I didn't want him to have to learn of my death from someone else, he needed to process things on his own.

I sat down at my desk that afternoon to write my note. _I'm sorry Bruce and I know you will blame yourself, but I just had to go, I could not go on anymore, what with all that's happened. This is not your fault. I loved you and Dick very much and you gave me so much in life. I'm so grateful for every moment I had with you and everything you gave to me. You loved me, both of you, when no one else did. I will forever be grateful for that. Bury me next to my parents and yours. Please don't mourn too long for me. Hold on to each other. _

It was short, sweet, to the point and would make fairly sure the police would in no way blame Bruce for my death. I made sure not to mention any of our nightly activities, since there was a chance someone else might find my note and take it. I had pinned it on the inside of my shirt though, so I hoped it would remain closed but for Bruce.

I took the knife and walked down to the alleyway. There was no thought as I trekked to the place of my demise. I did not think at all. Not a single thing crossed my empty mind.

Reaching the spot I had chosen, I knelt down, opened the top of my shirt, and pressed the knife experimentally to my chest. The metal was so cold, I shivered. The steel glinted in the moonlight; it was late at night. The stars blinked high above, cold unfeeling and watching like spectators at an execution. Batman would be on the prowl right now.

I hoped my body would not lie untended long. I hoped he would find me soon. I deliberately planned my death for a few minutes before I was due for my routine check in. That way, he would come for me quickly once he realized something was amiss.

I pressed the tip of the blade in until I started to bleed. The scars on my arms looked so odd in the pale light, like stripes on a tiger. A bum ran by, but he was too drunk to notice me. All was in place. I thought once more of my life, what I was leaving behind, and found nothing left to live for. Better I end this awful loneliness, this terrible feeling of alone, before things had a chance to get any worse.

I lifted the knife high above me head and brought it swiftly down towards my chest. It had almost touched my flesh when I heard the telltale whistle of a batarang. The knife went flying out of my grasp and I heard a frantic yell. TIM! But, it was not Batman's voice that called, though Batman was there. The heavy fall of his boots said as much. No, it was Nightwing's. Dick was here too.

I closed my eyes and wilted. They came here and now they were seeing my like this, seeing me for the weakling that I was, the pathetic creature I had become. I felt lower than the dirt.

They were upon me in an instant. Batman grabbed me by the shoulders and facing me with rage on his face, began to shake me violently. "Tim, what the hell do you think you were doing!" I just started to sob, frantically and desperately, tears rolling down my cheeks as if someone had spilled a bucket of water.

"Bruce", Nightwing said urgently, shoving him roughly aside. "No, you're making things worse." Then, he faced me. But, I couldn't even look him in the eye and I was crying so hard, my body swayed like a ship in a hurricane. "Timmy", he said softly, his voice gentle and smooth. He lifted my face and gazed into my eyes. In his, I could see hurt. He was already blaming himself.

"Timmy, ohh Timmy, my little baby." He stroked my cheek, so lightly, so tenderly. I just continued to sob, shaking like a leaf. I was painfully aware now of how cold it was that night. Dick pressed his lips to my forehead and I could feel tears running out from under his mask and hitting my face, merging with my own that flowed so freely off my chin.

Bruce knelt, shaking almost as much as I was, in the darkness. He tore off his cowl, the street was deserted after all, and moved closer. Dick put his arms around me and rocked me gently back and forth as I sobbed. He was crying to, almost as hard as I was. I could tell without a doubt that he was crying for me, his empathy so great he felt my anguish as his own.

Bruce just shook. He sat there in silence, shaking and gazing at me as if I were a creature from another planet and not the boy he had worked with so long on the streets of Gotham. "Tim", he said softly, his voice small and lost, filled with confusion pain and fear, "Tim why?"

"I'm so sorry", I whimpered, well aware of how pathetic I sounded in the darkness, "I'm so sorry." That was all I could manage to get out. And then, Bruce shocked me. He put his arms around Dick and I and cried too.

We all wept, together and wrapped up in the darkness. We wept for ourselves and for each other and for the world, and the kind of hell it was. And Bruce rocked us, Dick and I, as if the steady motion helped soothe him and remind him that some things still made sense, that there was still some rhythm left. He was so big, his embrace cocooned us completely and his great warm arms surrounded us.

We wept until there were no more tears left. I was the last to stop, finally ending the flow. I sagged against Dick as if I had no strength left. He just stroked me hair, methodically, mechanically, yet it was soothing all the same, if there was any part of me left that could be soothed. I felt raw and open, my senses electrified and every touch was like a bolt of lightning through my nerves.

It was Dick who spoke first. "Dear heart, why didn't you just come to me? You could have come to me." I pressed my cheek to his sternum and my voice was dull when I replied.

"I don't know, I couldn't."

"How could things have gotten that bad?" Bruce said softly, "Why didn't I notice before, I should have seen how bad things had gotten for you." It was then that I knew neither of them was angry with me. They were angry with themselves. I'm sure that would have made me feel troubled had I been able to feel anymore. As it were, I was too empty to feel.

I shifted my arm slightly and Dick noticed the scars. He gave another choked sob when he saw them as if it were his flesh the knife had bitten into and said softly, "Bruce." He gently lifted my arm, his touch feather light. Bruce started to tremble when he saw my scars as well and took my other wrist, slowly turning my arm to face upward. It was covered in scar tissue as well.

"How long has this been going on?" Dick asked in a haunted voice, "How long have you felt this way?"

"I don't know", I replied. Bruce ran his thumb over my arm, over my self-inflicted mutilations. I could feel him shaking again. It was almost like an earthquake.

"What could make you feel this way Tim?" he asked, "Did I do this to you?"

"No", I replied, "It was a lot of things. This wasn't your fault."

"But, how did I not notice", he said desperately, "I should have seen. There must have been signs. I didn't even notice your arms." He pulled back and Dick did to so that they were holding me at arms length, gazing at me and kneeling on the filthy Gotham street in the wretched Gotham alley.

I shivered even more violently and Bruce unfastened his cape, draping it gently around my shoulders. It was warm and it smelt of him. We were all silent for a moment, I gazing at the earth and they gazing at me.

"What can we do Dick?" Bruce said, turning to Dick with confusion and fear in his eyes, "I can't lose another son Dick, I just can't."

"I don't know", Dick said softly, shaking his head, "I just don't know."

"What do you need Tim?" Bruce asked me desperately, "What do you need to make you whole again? Whatever it is, I'll get it for you. I'll get you the world if that's what you want. I'll do anything." I shook my head.

"I miss my mom", I said softly, "and my dad and Conner, and Steph. I've lost so many people. My grades are dead, my friends are gone. I'm all alone. I'm just so alone." It wasn't meant to be a condemnation or a way to place the blame on anyone, yet I knew instantly after I had said it, that was what it came out as.

"I'm sorry", Dick said, "I'm sorry you've been alone. You're right, you have lost a lot. You have every right to cry. But your grades can get up, your friends can come back. You're not alone Timmy because we love you. We'll always love you, no matter what. You can heal Tim. Scars heal."

"Some don't", I murmured, thinking of my parents.

"But they fade", Bruce said softly, "All they need is time and I'll do my best to help them along." He lifted my arm, held it face up and pressed his lips to the first scar, the one closest to my wrist. Then, he moved on to the second, pausing only a moment on each wound before kissing the next.

I was so shocked, I remained stock-still. Never in my life had I ever expected him to do something like that, something so tender and gentle. When he finished with my left arm, he moved on to my right, kissing each of my twisted, knotted scars. He lifted his head after he had finished and kissed my forehead.

"You're strong Tim," he said softly, "and I believe in you. I believe you have the power to overcome this. You have to power to heal. You're a superhero and you know us superheroes, we never give up. Don't ever give up Timothy Drake. I need you."

"And I need you too", Dick said. I was so moved by what Bruce had said and done, so shocked and touched by the depth of his love for me, I threw myself into his arms. He put them around me tightly and hugged me fiercely, like he was never gonna let go. Dick put his arm on my leg, reminding me he was there too, that he loved me too.

No one had yelled or called me weak, no one had told me I was being selfish or that I needed to grow up. They just pressed close to me, telling me that I was not alone.

And sure enough, just as Bruce said, the scars faded. Not all of them healed completely, but they all faded and gradually, they bothered me less and less until I hardly noticed they were there.

But, when I did see them, they held a different meaning for me. Instead of reminding me of what I didn't have, they served as a monument to what I did. I knew I would never be alone.

And late that night, coming into Bruce's room as he sat up reading, I was assured of this. "Bruce", I whispered, "the darkness, it's suffocating me."

He gazed at me with love and sympathy in his eyes and said, "Come and sit with me." I climbed up onto his bed like I hadn't for years and lowered my head onto his lap. He stroked my hair, smoothing it with his great, rough hands.

Dick came in a few minutes later and wordlessly laid down next to me, putting his arms around me and reminding me he loved me too. I didn't know if he had been looking for me or if he had sought out Bruce. It didn't really matter. I was warm and comfortable and already, peace was starting to permeate me. "Don't worry", Bruce said softly, almost as an afterthought, "You're not alone."


End file.
